Sunday, August 21, 2005

Here's a little something I'm working on.

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Guinea Pig

Alright I have a confession to make: I am a sexual guinea pig.

Yes, you heard me correct, a sexual guinea pig. Seriously. I have one of those jobs that would make people swoon if I told them. Secretly, I already know that like most folks, they really want to change places with me. Really! You see, I try out all the inventions of this sex toy company, Szam Electronics. And what inventions they are! I wish you could see them. They have things that make you …oh, forgive me. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning…

It began so innocently. I was searching for a job, any job, to pay my bills. I’d been kicked out of the house for missing curfew too many times and my friend girl’s parents were getting tired of feeding my dead weight. So I hit the pavement looking for work.

By chance, I saw an advertisement for an “electronics tester.” I had no idea what that meant and knew I didn’t know a transistor from a voltage meter, but I had to have a job. I jotted the number down and found a pay phone. I was ecstatic they didn’t ask for my experience but they did ask me to come right over for an interview.

To say I was anxious is an understatement. I was wearing my Sunday best like they suggested in VoTech class, replete with pantyhose and high heels. If I had known how far I would have to walk, I would have chucked those heels and worn my tennis shoes. I gritted my teeth and bore the pain as I tip-toed down the sidewalk looking for the correct address.

The building I stopped in front of was an old factory that needed a new coat of paint. My first thought was how in the heck can they afford to pay somebody if the building looks like this? The growling of my stomach forced me to ignore my brain’s intrusion and push the ancient door bell. I heard the Bong! Bong! Bong! of chimes inside from the street. Just as I figured I either had the wrong address or it was a hoax, the door opened and Albert Einstein stared back at me. Just kidding. The guy did look like the spitting image of old Albert but as you and I know, he’s been kicking up daisies for a minute or two.

“Yes,” the Einstein imitator asked.

“Ah…I’m here about the job?” I questioned tentatively.

He looked me over from head to toe before he spoke again. “So are you here about the job? Or, are you here for the job?” His eyes twinkled behind his rimless lenses.

I was confused. “That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” he taunted.

I started to turn and walk away but then my stomach rumbled again. I pressed down the bitter words waiting to spew onto this wise cracking old man and humbled myself. “Yes, I’m here for the job.” I injected sudden found confidence into my voice.

“Ahhhh. That’s better. Follow me.” He turned on his heels and began walking down a hallway.

I stepped inside and the odor of burning rubbing and other electrical smells assaulted my nostrils. I looked around cautiously just in case something was about to catch fire. The last thing I needed was to end up dead trying to get a job.

Shivering, I pushed down my misgivings and followed him down the hallway. I had to trot a bit to catch up since he didn’t wait on me. The hallway turned down a dimmer hallway before turning right down another dim hallway until we turned left and entered a wide open space. The room was bright and electronic equipment in various stages of disarray covered every surface, even the floor. The electric smell was especially loud here.

“Wow.” That one word summed it all up.

The man chuckled. “I usually get that whenever someone new enters.”

My mind was now churning with possibilities. There were small shapes and large shapes but nothing quite recognizable. Maybe I’ll be trying out a new type of iPod. I’d never had one, but everything I’d read said they were the bomb diggity and I couldn’t wait to see if it was true. If not an iPod, perhaps a James Bond spy type of thingy. Who knew?

“I’m Olbert Eartzog. You can call me Ollie, though.”

With a name like that, you’d have to call me something else too!

“What a name. I don’t think I’ve ever met an Olbert.” I’ll bet he hasn’t either. “Is it Swedish or Scandinavian or something?”

“Nope. American Gibberish,” he said and cackled like a rooster.

I was warming up to this guy. If you can make fun of yourself, you are probably okay. “So, Ollie, about the job—”

“Yes, the job,” Ollie began, scratching at his chin.

I saw that one side was clean shaven and the other had some serious whiskers still hanging in there. Good Lord, this man is the Mad Scientist and Nutty Professor combined! I stifled my laugh and focused on his eyes.

“The job is a…unique one.”

“Okay. I like things that are different,” I perked up and said.

“This job is quite unique,” he reiterated.

“That’s fine. I’m down with whatever,” I assured him.

“You said it, not me.” He pointed his finger at me.

I felt apprehensive after that statement. Just what did ‘you said it, not me’ mean? Was he about to go psycho or something? I took a step backwards, reassessing my previous assessment, and inhaled deeply before speaking. “What do I have to do?”

I was confused again. “You mean hi-tech gizmos like a souped up Playstation or iPod?”

“Not…exactly.” Ollie hesitated.

“What then.” I needed some clarification.

“Are you over eighteen?” The smile was now gone from his face.

His changing direction caught me off guard. “Yeah. I’m twenty.”

“In college?”

The tone of his question forced me to answer honestly. “No. I dropped out last year.”

“Do you live with your parents?”

Whoa. Is this some type of kidnapping setup? “Sometimes,” I answered cautiously.

“Do you live with your parents?” Ollie repeated more forceful.

Okay, lying is a waste of time. He saw right through me. “No. I live with a friend girl.”

A smile suddenly split his lips. “That good. No need to have irate parents in the fray.”

A chill ran down my spine. “If you say so.” Suddenly, I couldn’t take the suspense, his swing moods or the smell any longer. I wanted a job but I didn’t think I wanted whatever he was offering. “Look Ollie, I don’t think this job is for me. I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule, but I think I’ll be going.”

“No need to run off like a little girl. I won’t harm you.” Ollie began laughing and slapping at his legs.

I didn’t see the humor in the situation and refused to call his bluff. “Could you take me back to the front door?”

“If you are willing to walk out on $700 a week, paid in cash, sure.” Ollie brushed past me and began walking towards the outer door.

Did he say $700 per week? I didn’t know the last time I had made $200 a week much less $700. My stomach began kickboxing against my ribs reminding me again of my predicament. Seven hundred dollars would go a long way into getting me an apartment. I made up my mind in a snap. As long as it wasn’t prostitution…well, streetwalking prostitution anyway, I was doing it. “Hold up!”

Ollie turned back with a smile. “Yes?”

I licked my lips and cleared my throat before I spoke. “This is a legitimate job, right?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m not going to be a…prostitute or anything like that, am I?”

Ollie began laughing. “I’ve been called many things but pimp isn’t one of them.”

“Then, I’ll take the job.”

Ollie’s laugh cut off like a faucet. “Follow me. I need to see how you test.” He flipped his hand at me to follow.

Lord, please don’t let me have made a horrible mistake! Yet, I followed him like he was the Pied Piper.

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